Chapter Four
objective or goal: a goal or objective that somebody is trying to achieve –
Ambition
It was the first Monday after Halloween, Harry was sipping at his soup while talking with Neville. He could feel Micah’s eyes on him all the way from here and longed to flip him off, but instead arched an eyebrow and glanced once at the Slytherin before going back to his soup and snatching Neville’s Transfiguration.
“I’ll do this for you if you do my Herbology?” Harry suggested lightly.
Neville grinned. “Really?”
“Mhmm, I’ll have it done and perfected. You’ll get into this class whether McGonagall likes it or not,” he whispered, handing it back.
Neville however wasn’t looking at Harry now, he was looking over his head. “Uh oh.”
Harry blinked and gazed over to see Professor Dumbledore heading toward him. “Fucking hell,” he murmured and placed on his false smile at the exact same time the Headmaster approached him.
“Mr. Potter?”
Harry’s face darkened. “Potter-Black,” he corrected.
“Come, my boy,” Dumbledore responded. “You are the child of James and Lily Potter.”
The young wizard took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled it trying to calm his rising temper. Glancing over at Neville, he saw the other boy’s eyes were stern but the Longbottom heir smiled at him when he caught his gaze, offering his silent support.
“Their child by birth, perhaps,” he conceded. “However, Headmaster, I’m certain it will not have escaped your notice that I have been blood adopted.”
Steal blue eyes met his own deep green orbs, which now mirrored Tom Riddle’s and not Lily Evans’.
“That may be, Harry; however, you were born a Potter,” he emphasized. “I will not argue the point with you.”
Ignoring his final comment, Harry pressed. “Born a Potter but reborn a Black. Surely you most notice that I now no longer resemble either of the Potters.”
The headmaster refused to concede the point. “I apologize for interrupting your meal, but may I see you in my office?”
“As you wish,” Harry responded, and then stepped on Neville’s foot. “See you soon, Nev.”
The way to Dumbledore’s office was completely silent, both wizards lost in their own thoughts. Dumbledore did not like this new stubborn streak in the orphan and he did not wish for others to overhear what he was going to say; Harry said nothing because he really didn’t want to speak with the old coot. He hated him.
Once they were concealed within the office, Harry paused at the door as Dumbledore swept through with a smile. “How are you doing, Harry?”
Like he cared, Harry thought in disgust. “I’m doing lovely.”
“Classes seem to be doing you remarkably well.”
“Yes.”
“You’re proficient in all your classes, even History of Magic.”
“Remus gave me an overhaul this summer; he drilled every History of Magic text book he had into my head and Sirius made sure that Transfiguration lived up to my father‘s expectations.”
Dumbledore leaned against his desk and offered him a seat. Harry declined and waited. “Well, you weren’t supposed to go there this year as it was very dangerous.”
“I was willing to take that gamble,” Harry insisted. “The Dursleys weren’t doing me any good or I them, and Remus and Sirius deserve to get to know me and vice versa. It was a nice summer for a change, Professor.”
“Yes, and speaking of change – I wanted to ask about you.”
“Blood adoption.” He was surprised the old man hadn’t called him up to inquire earlier.
Dumbledore frowned at him. “Blood adoption? That’s rather dangerous Harry…”
“No, it’s not. It’s perfectly safe and I now have a Father. What’s so wrong with that? He can now protect me in much the same way Aunt Petunia could; the only difference is neglect.”
“Now, I wouldn’t go that far Harry,” Dumbledore admonished. “I’m sure your aunt had every good intention.”
A vein twitched in Harry‘s neck as the Headmaster said this. Yes, good intentions. What? Beating the Horcrux out of him? Bastard! “Oh yes, I’m sure,” Harry said apathetically. “Is this all you wanted me for sir? If not I would like to get to class before I’m late.”
“I wanted to ask what has happened between you and your friends?” He pulled out the grandfatherly caring card which made Harry feel nauseas on another level. What a fucking fake! He thought in disgust. Dumbledore didn’t care about him or his wellbeing, in fact he could bet it annoyed the man to know just how free he had become that summer. No more puppet on a string and that really bothered the master of puppets.
“I don’t want anything to do with any of them,” he said flatly.
Dumbledore’s frown deepened. “Why?”
“I prefer the company of others – ones that aren’t jealous of me every time I turn around. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I have Charms to tend to.”
“Harry you should not let petty squabbling hold you back from your friends.”
“They aren’t my friends,” he reciprocated.
“I’m sure you don’t mean that-”
“I do mean it,” Harry said sharply, “from the bottom of my heart, Professor Dumbledore, I mean every word of it. They are not my friends. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny… none of them.”
“I’m really not pleased with this.”
“I’m sure you’re not, Headmaster,” Harry said blithely. “But simply put, it’s not your life. It’s mine.” He left the office after this. He was trying not to shake with rage as he took a moving staircase toward the Prefects’ Common Room.
As he walked past, glass objects and statues shattered, only to have a little fourth year Ravenclaw come up behind him, fixing things.
When he stepped into the common room, a vase near some Slytherins shattered causing gasps. The fire in the hearths blew out but Harry didn’t notice. He swept right past Hermione whose books went flying and finally got to his room where he bolted it shut and leaned against it.
His breathing was labored as the magic inside of him from Voldemort’s Horcrux flared, sending it whipping around the room damaging anything in existence. It burned and not with pain, but with anger – anger at Albus Dumbledore. The one man both Voldemort and Harry despised equally. Harry moved up off the door and collapsed onto the bed, screaming into a pillow as the magic enveloped him, carrying him off to a strange faraway place.
Oh, how he hated Dumbledore. He ripped the pillow he had in his hands to shreds making the feathers fly around the room.
“Merlin!” Micah said when he walked in to see the room a complete disaster. There were feathers all over the bed and Harry was submerged in them. He was lying on his side facing the window, white bits of fluff littering his jet-black hair. “Repairo!” He fixed everything but the mess on the bed and strolled over to the teen, who huffed.
Micah slipped onto the bed, his knees in the mattress and he leaned over Harry to see that his eyes were wide and his mouth was in a thin line. His usually pale cheeks were flushed a brilliant cherry red.
“What did you do?”
“Not what I did,” Harry hissed, “it’s what that son of a bitch did!”
“Who?”
“Dumbledore.”
Eyes widening, Micah circled his arm around Harry’s waist and pushed his hair out of the way. “What the fuck did he do to piss you off so much?”
“Expressing his dislike for me separating from those thieves!” Harry snapped but it wasn’t directed toward Micah. He was so furious. “Like they were worth my time and then making his dislike known for the Blood Adoption. Of course he would dislike it, he dislikes anything that he can’t control!”
Micah was stunned and confused. It had never occurred to him that Harry would ever dislike that old man. He always seemed to be so friendly and Dumbledore’s man through and through. Had everyone thought wrong all these years?
“Just infuriates me to a whole new level. He voices his concerns, his dislikes… okay, yeah it’s not his life he has to live – it’s my damn life. Bloody pathetic is what he is, then he throws me into a war I don‘t even want to be in.”
Micah flinched and squeezed Harry tighter. “Are you telling me he’s forcing you?”
“Trying,” Harry murmured. “I didn’t say he was going to succeed. I don’t want to deal with him. I don’t want to deal with this, I don’t want to be the boy-who-fucking-lived. I’m Harry,” he whispered to himself, “Just Harry. The boy in the cupboard.” His eyes then widened as he realize what he had said and who he said it too. He gasped and tried to jerk away but Micah’s grip tightened.
“I don’t think so, Hadrian,” Micah growled, his mind filing away the comment about a cupboard to analyze later. “Don’t you rant to me and turn away!”
Harry hoped that Micah took this as a sign that he didn’t want to be in the war at all. If he put the clues together and figured out he was Voldemort’s Heir then this could rattle everything. He’d have to be careful in the future. He gazed up at Micah. “You should go to class.”
“I have no class, I don’t take Herbology. It’s a pointless subject.”
“Oh,” he said sheepishly.
“You’re lying in feathers,” Micah said flicking his wand making Harry’s pillows repair.
“Heh.”
“That was your magic out there, wasn’t it?”
Harry nodded. “Yes, always does that when I’m angry.” He breathed in deeply taking in Micah’s strange musk scent. “I get so sick of the same thing over and over again. I don’t like being played like a puppet on a string.”
Micah heard his words and detected the desperation in his voice. He observed Harry, the boy’s chest was slowly rising and falling, his cheeks were attractively flushed and his hair fluttered around, a few white feathers were submerged in the black layers. Without even thinking about it, Micah reached up and gently started to pull the feathers from his hair and all was quiet.
Mine, a voice inside him whispered. Mine.
Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as fingers stretched through his hair and he tilted his head to the side, his forehead pressing into a warm but hard shoulder. In a matter of seconds the anger and vexation drained out of Harry and he was lulled into a strange sort of slumber.
What was he doing? Micah questioned, pulling the feathers out of the boy’s hair and discarded them to the floor. Harry had fallen asleep and here Micah was watching the gorgeous minx, wondering what was going on in his head.
Harry Potter-Black really disliked Albus Dumbledore? That was very interesting news. Everyone was under the impression that Harry Potter was the Headmaster’s favourite. Of course there would be solid good reason why people thought this. But Micah now knew different, he knew something that his Lord didn’t know. A conundrum of thoughts and feelings washed over Micah and they bothered him on a whole new level. He let go of Harry’s silky black hair and shifted until he was on his back staring at the vaulted ceiling. It seemed to Micah that very little made sense. He hadn’t even had time to put together the clues to the Dark Lord’s Heir considering every second of his free time had been spent with Harry, and although he wasn’t getting what he truly wanted out of it, Micah not-so-grudgingly admitted that he liked spending time with his Gryffindor.
The thought passed through his mind again. Harry was his.
And he wasn’t certain if he was ever going to be able to let him go.
But he knew his Dark Lord would not be pleased if he found out that Micah Montague enjoyed Harry Potter’s company. He could imagine the punishment he’d get if that ever got out. Briefly, Micah wondered if he could ever literally raise his wand to Harry on the battlefield, before growling at the very notion.
He tilted his head and searched the pale features of Harry’s face. It was soft, elegantly shaped around the chin and jaw line. He scowled silently, if it ever came to that Micah would conveniently overlook Harry for the others. Pretend as if he didn’t see Harry at all, because hurting the little boy was not something he felt like he could truly stomach.
This very thought made him frown.
A soft hum emitted from the teen on his mind, who then he shifted onto his side, his head drooping into the side of Micah’s neck. The seventh year shivered when hot breathy puffs sprayed across his neck.
It was then, lying there that Micah realized that Hadrian Potter was not a toy and hadn’t been for a long time.
“Ulgh,” Harry breathed in deeply and collapsed on the black velvet settee, staring up at the crystal chandelier. His green eyes swirled, his hair fluttered across the arm rest and brilliant ruby red eyes peered over at him with obvious amusement.
“It will be over soon, Hadrian,” Voldemort said holding out a glass of scotch.
“Thanks,” Harry said taking it. “I swear to Merlin, Morgana, or any fucking sentient being out there if Dumbledore starts harping anymore about those goddamn bastards known as the Weasleys, I will blow our cover by killing one of them and hanging their entrails all over the Great fucking Hall.”
Voldemort laughed lowly and took a seat opposite of Harry and surveyed the teen. “If you could get away with it, by all means, Hadrian, do it. The less supporters, the better.”
Harry laughed. “Maybe,” he hummed and nursed his glass.
The fire crackled in the hearth and Harry could make out shadows stringing themselves across the chandelier that he’d been staring idly at. He closed his eyes and nearly lolled himself into a sleep when Voldemort’s voice interrupted his trance.
“Anyone suspects your change to be related to me?”
“Hmm.” Harry placed his glass down on the floor and kicked off his shoes. “I don’t think so. They know it’s a blood adoption from my godfather.”
“Your godfather has some very valuable information for us, as does Remus.”
Harry smiled. “Yeah, considering they are core members. They would know stuff that not even Sev would know.”
“Anyone from Slytherin giving you trouble?”
Harry’s smile turned into a smirk. “Not the kind of trouble one would expect from a Death Eater to Harry Potter.”
“Oh?” Voldemort’s curiosity peaked.
“I have to say, Micah Montague is one ambitious guy,” Harry said shaking his head. “He does not give up.”
“On?”
“Anything, I presume. He reminds me of a young version of you.”
“Does he?” Voldemort inquired, shocked.
“Mhmm, persistent, he doesn’t do anything for nothing, and the simplest things waste his time. He’s a right bastard but he’s brilliant, I give him that, and he’s … well, persuasive.” He blushed slightly at his confession.
“You’re interested?”
Harry sighed. “Yes and no,” he admitted. “It’s fun to see him get all flustered when I push him away and he’s not a bad person to be around. He has a rather dominant personality. But, I really really can’t afford him in my life at this stage.”
“If he is one of mine, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“True.”
“If you wish to tell him, I wouldn’t mind.”
“No,” Harry said, smiling. “We will tell when the time is right, no sooner. Not even to those I am partial to.”
Voldemort gave a nod that Harry sensed rather than saw. His eyes were still closed.
“What time do you have to be back?”
“Sev will come by with the portkey in a couple hours. I’ll get some sleep before I get harassed tonight.”
“You want to shock the shit out of him, don’t you?”
Harry snickered. “Yes, I do, the look on his face will be priceless, when he realizes he’s been hitting on or attempting to bed your Heir.”
Voldemort arched a crafted eyebrow at the interesting teen. “You’re just as evil as me.”
Harry shifted onto his side and cracked open an eye. “You know it.”
When Harry got back that night he met Micah on the way through; they locked eyes for a brief second before Harry continued on to his room. The fifteen year old thought about what he told Voldemort and was aware of how much he had complimented Micah in that amount of time.
He sighed, and tossed his books aside. He’d been given a scroll from Severus of Dark Codes to decipher. He’d do it later; right now, he needed a very hot shower. His muscles were aching. Dueling with Lord Voldemort always made him sore.
He dug through his closet well aware of the door quietly opening and Micah’s strong musk scent flowing through the room.
“You look tired,” Micah commented from behind Harry, who glanced briefly over his shoulder at the gorgeous Slytherin.
“I am, shoulder is hurting. I slammed it into a pillar,” Harry said, rolling it while gathering his clothes. “I’m going for a show-” But Harry never was able to finish for Micah’s lips covered his own so quickly that he hardly had time to react until the feeling of Micah’s tongue slid across his lips wanting entrance. Succumbing to the want, Harry moaned discreetly under deep kisses. It tasted far too good.
Harry dropped his clean clothes he had pulled out of the drawers to his feet and leaned into Micah’s warm frame. Arms encased around his body drawing him closer until their frames were meshed together and Harry’s smaller body started to trembling for more.
Desperation. Micah was desperate for more, desperate to taste and consume. Dammit! He’d never been so turned on, never needed his arousal satiated more than he had at that moment. Harry’s mouth and tongue worked with him, fighting and swirling together until they were both breathless and silently begged for more. He clutched Harry, feeling the small frame of his body, running his hands along the length and pressed into the small of his back. Harry fit so well to him.
He groaned as he brushed his hardened cock against Harry, and he gently pushed the raven haired Gryffindor’s back to the wardrobe, locking him in so that he could get closer without an escape.
Harry was swimming and he was indulged, he knew they had to stop. He couldn’t allow it to get out of hand. He just told Voldemort that he wouldn’t allow it all to slip through his fingers. Not now, not yet!
With great reluctance, Harry ran his fingers up and down Micah’s thin chest and stomach before coming to stop on his cheeks. “I’m going for a shower now…”
Micah scowled, knowing that once again he would not get what he wanted on that night. He jerked away from Harry, blood and skin boiling to maximum. “Fine,” he spat harshly.
Harry flashed him a rather sad smile before gathering his clothes and heading for his personal bathroom. If Micah had seen his face he might have seen glittering tears, but Harry was way too proud to show that off.
Micah was cold toward Harry the next few days. He’d glare or ignore him which bothered Harry a little too much for comfort. Damn, he was getting attached to Micah and he knew it. He felt a throbbing headache come on as he thought of this. Bill would even taunt him silently when he was in Defense class.
But of course he wouldn’t let Micah know this bothered him. Instead, Harry ignored him right back, pretended he didn’t exist and went about his day with Luna, Neville, or by himself.
He didn’t see Bill at all considering Fleur Delacour was now residing in the castle until the first of the December. Between Quidditch, homework, and studying Harry’s life was monotonous, but it was steady all the same. Micah didn’t come into the room harassing him like he usually did and Harry suspected that the Slytherin finally got the hint and gave up.
Harry wouldn’t let him know that he almost caved and gave into Micah – this attachment was getting dangerous. Micah only wanted sex and Harry’s thoughts were leading elsewhere and to places it had no business going.
The colder the air became, the longer the nights seemed to get. He could no longer get out of the Prefects’ Tower in fear of running into McGonagall, Dumbledore, or a random Order Member. One specifically being Tonks. Harry was fashionably annoyed by that pixie Auror and wanted to kick her between the legs. She often followed him around, asking him if he’d heard from Sirius or Remus. She was especially interested in Remus, which also bothered Harry on a whole new level.
Remus was Sirius’! The Prefects’ Common Room was almost completely deserted when he came through one evening. A couple sixth year Ravenclaws, a Slytherin, and one idiot Gryffindor. He breathed a sigh of relief aware that the pink haired witch was no longer behind him, yapping in his ear. He glanced over his shoulder once more to make absolutely sure. He was aware of the long stare he received from Micah but he dare not look back to decipher whether it was cold, curious, or furious.
“Harry?”
Blinking, Harry turned his attention on the curly haired brunette and arched a crafted eyebrow. “Hm?”
She stood in front of him, looking a little uncomfortable. “C- can we go and talk?” she asked imploringly.
Harry didn’t want to be alone with her at all, he trusted her as far as he could throw her without magic, and considering his size that wasn’t far. “My room.”
She gave a hesitant nod as he moved forward and it was then that he allowed his eyes to lock on Micah, and to his surprise he saw concern flash through his those golden orbs.
What was the concern for? He wondered, opening the door and allowing Hermione to go ahead of him. She was immediately assessing his room, opening her mouth slightly when she realized that it was not exactly Gryffindor Esq.
“What happened to the Gryffindor décor?” She attempted to converse.
“I’m not as loyal to my house as people think I am. All that red makes me nauseas.”
“Oh…” She seemed stunned, having not expected that. “Harry? Are you okay?”
Harry laughed. “Why are you asking me if I’m okay? I’m just fine, Hermione. In fact, I’ve never been better.”
Hermione frowned. “You don’t miss us?”
“Thieves?”
She flinched. “B… but Harry that was mostly Professor Dumble-”
“I don’t want to hear excuses. Is this what you wanted to talk to me in private about? Don’t want the entire common room to know what thieves, fakes, and liars you are?” He crossed the room as he spoke making her shiver considering the way he moved was like a predator out for his prey.
“It’s not like that…”
“Oh, really?” Harry drawled smirking as he pressed his hands against the burgundy armchair and peered out the window.
“Harry we’ve been friends for years-”
“False friendship,” Harry corrected icily.
“No!”
“Yes.”
“NO! Harry, that’s not right. It was a mistake!”
Harry turned around and narrowed his eyes on her. “You’re damn right it was a mistake, moron.” Again she flinched and stared at Harry in horror. Never had he ever spoke to her that way. “A mistake that you became a worthless little traitor following some old fucking coot like a blind bat! This was a blasphemous mistake that cannot be forgiven. If this had been Ron approaching me, he’d be going out the window right now, head first.”
She stood where she was rooted, her brown eyes larger than ever. “Ha-”
“Get out.”
“But-”
“Get out!” he hissed through gritted teeth.
“You heard him, Mudblood, get the fuck out before I write you up for trespassing,” ordered a cold blood boiling voice at the door.
Harry almost smiled when he saw Micah standing there, glaring at Hermione with hatred.
She spluttered and then bowed her head. Harry could tell she was resisting the flinch. Hermione said nothing more and rushed out of the bedroom. Micah conveniently evading her mere touch, he curled his lip in a sneer. “You should sanitize your room from that filth.”
“Hi to you too,” Harry said shaking his head.
Micah closed the door. “You annoyed me.”
“So I did,” he said with a sideways smile. “I’d apologize but honestly, I have nothing to apologize for.”
The Slytherin scowled but didn’t argue as he sank down on the armchair nearest the bed. He propped his feet up on the bed and stared at Harry without saying anything.
Harry, used to this, went for his homework and plopped down on the floor near Micah’s chair. All was quiet but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Micah took the Dark Arts book that Harry had been reading at night from the stand and busied himself with it. He still couldn’t believe Harry was reading and studying the Dark Arts.
Harry was just getting to his Defense when he felt warm fingers slide through the strands of his black hair. He smiled slightly at this. The interaction between the two was always strange and Harry didn’t quite understand it. In fact, he didn’t quite understand Micah at all.
It was as if Micah had never been upset; the anger was gone, and every evening the seventh year would sit in his room with his own homework or book. They rarely ever talked, there wasn’t much to say. But it was nice, Harry didn’t feel so alone. It was almost as if Micah wanted to be close to him for reasons other than sex.
But Harry wouldn’t kid himself. As much as he knew that all Micah wanted was sex, Harry’s resolve was crashing.
Excentryke's Musings 